


How Fragile We Are

by llaras



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Post-Serenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llaras/pseuds/llaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, Mal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Fragile We Are

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Queen of Comment-y Meat, [](http://finitejester37.livejournal.com/profile)[finitejester37](http://finitejester37.livejournal.com/). I hope you like it, sweetie. Thank you to [](http://justblue0162.livejournal.com/profile)[justblue0162](http://justblue0162.livejournal.com/) for the helpful comments. You is my favorite Lou, chica.

Once Mal was a boy, mostly full of mischief, but serious at turns. His days were spent exploring, conquering and learning how to get along with wild things. Like horses and weeds, stumps and half-starved packs of dogs.

And one late summer night, it's the dogs that Mal is thinking about, because on his way home from an afternoon of fishing and swimming in the creek he found a bird. It's a tiny thing, smaller than his twelve-year-old hand. It's a baby, so tiny and wobbly, it doesn't even make a peep. He doesn't get too close, cause his ma told him what happens to babies that fall out of their nests. They are not to be touched or messed with, she said. Their mamas would smell him on the baby and let it die.

So he finds himself a hiding spot, not too far, but not so close that the mama bird might think he is a threat and stay away. He thinks this is important, he can't just leave it there. Not with the wild dogs and other hungry critters that come out at night. He's not afraid. He has a slingshot in his back pocket and the courage of all young boys who think the end of things is something they can keep away with sheer will alone.

He waits all night, alert for any noise or shadow that shouldn't be there. He waits for morning because he knows that's when the mama bird will have to come home. And then everything will be okay.

But when morning does come he is alone. Just him and a tiny stiff bird that he cradles in his palms before burying it near the base of his favorite oak tree.

*****

Zoe carefully chooses the right time and place to speak to Mal. Not that there is a perfect way to do this, in a perfect world they would never be having this conversation. But she waits until everyone has bunked down for the night, waits for Mal to do a final sweep before heading to bed himself.

She has a bottle of Kaylee's homebrew in one hand and that's the first thing Mal notices. He gives her a questioning look, but she doesn't respond. She's not quite ready yet.

He waves her down, shutting the door behind him, and sets to looking for something to drink out of. Once he's rinsed some mugs out and cleared a chair for her to sit on he sits on the edge of his bed and pours a measure for them both. Then he sighs heavily.

"Sir?" she asks.

"I don't know, Zoe. I don't know what to think." He gestures with his mug. "You've got a fearsome look and it's making me think I need to get out my shotgun. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind."

Zoe toys with her mug, rolls the dark liquid around and around, tries to find the words. That's the part she hadn't figured out.

"Remember Lazarus?" she asks. She sniffs at her mug, but doesn't drink.

Mal settles a bit and Zoe can tell he is thinking back. That was one job that went right at every turn. Definitely a cause for celebration. They all hit the town that night, even Zoe. The first time she'd let herself have fun in the five years since she'd lost Wash. And in the months since then she'd smiled wider, laughed more. It was a good thing.

Mal smiles up at her and drains his mug. "I do," he says as he finishes his drink.

Zoe is frustrated. "And do you remember where we woke up that morning?" she asks, the slightest edge to her voice.

"Sure," Mal says with another smile. "I don't think two people could jump out of bed faster than we did. And you got the sheet." He points an accusing finger at her. "I still don't remember anything after the fifth round." He chuckles a bit.

But Zoe doesn't laugh with him, she just arches her eyebrows, trying to convey without words that everything isn't as funny as he seems to think.

Mal frowns then. "What?" He's right on the cusp of impatient.

And Zoe still can't say it. So she tries another way, leans back in her chair, looks down and stretches long fingers across her stomach. She looks back up at him, daring him to misunderstand.

Mal sputters. "But you said, I asked you! Gorramit, Zoe." He slams his mug down. "You said nothing happened!"

Now that it's out, all of her anxiety disappears. Nothing that can happen now can be worse than the moment that just passed. She looks him in the eye, serene sky versus storm fury. "I lied," she says.

"You!" Mal strangles the shout, jumps to his feet and turns around, his hands clenching and unclenching.

She watches him breathe, waits for the storm to quiet.

Mal sits back down carefully, still not looking at her. He's staring at his hands instead, cupped like there is something precious cradled there. He is shaking.


End file.
